


Blasphemy (where ships come to die and be born)

by Sing



Category: Sleepy Hollow (TV)
Genre: AU, Adventure, Alternate Universe - Crack, Angst, Challenges, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/F, F/M, Fluff, Friendship, Gen, Humor, I Can't Believe I Wrote This, Lost Memory, Multi, Nonsense, Rebirth, Romance, Threesome, all around nonsense, blasphemy ships, ideas, new generations, past vs present, plot dump, some ships shouldn't exist, vaguely canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-29
Updated: 2017-10-10
Packaged: 2018-03-20 04:04:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 21
Words: 17,288
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3635982
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sing/pseuds/Sing
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of drabbles of the most well loved and unlikely ships I could think of.  Non linear in plot.</p><p>They will be new, perhaps intriguing, and I'm sure downright terrifying.</p><p>Now taking requests!</p><p>UPDATED!!!!. Read if you dare.</p><p>I might have to up the warning on these.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I do not own Sleepy Hollow

"I don't want to talk about Katrina, Miss Mills,"

"Crane,"

"Miss Mills," he hissed as he downed the rest of his beer and slammed it down on the table. The fire crackled in the corner. An evening of drinking between the two witnesses had quickly evolved into a heated discussion, mainly because Abbie knew Crane was not addressing his issues with the very recent death of everyone he had once called family. That it had been at her hands and his. She wasn't even coping with it that well to be honest, sure, she'd been down to kill Henry for a while, but when it sinks in that you murdered your best friends son, that kind of changes the context, a bit. No matter how much self convincing she would do.

"Ichabod if not for yourself for me, okay? I need this. I need to talk about this,"

Crane looked at her, perplexed. "About what?"

"About how I murdered the son you once had faith in. About how you killed your wife to save my life. Call it survivors guilt or my conscious or whatever you damn well will, but I have not been at peace with this and I didn't even like them, nor harboured any illusions that they could be saved," she spat as she leaned over the table towards him. "I am your partner Crane but I have also brought you pain, however you may look at it, and it hurts," she stressed. "You lost so much just waking up in this century and you lost it all again, and I grieve for you, I feel what you must feel, and for you to act like it's nothing, well damn it Crane it's not human, and I know you're human, I need you to feel something Crane, have a reaction, something," she begged. 

Crane looked away from her to stare into the fire. "It wounds me," he began. "That I have lost all I have known. Yes. It burns me, that my wife, for whom I pined for a year, so easily, without a second thought, betrayed me, it, it rends my soul," he emphasized, suddenly turning to look her in the eye. "That even after all I have put you through, Miss Mills, you are still so concerned for what I feel, or don't. And I am terrified that if I tell you what I do need, what I feel most of all as of late, you will think I am a monster,"

Abbie placed her hand on top of this. "Tell me Crane, tell me and we can work through it,"

"What I say next cannot be unsaid," he whispered, remembering that he had uttered something similar to Katrina. Abbie swallowed around the lump that had taken form in her throat. 

"I'm a big girl Crane, I can take it," she assured him, nodding encouragingly.

"I want to be held," he said and Abbie almost laughed. That was what he was so worked up about? 

But then he continued.

"I need, I need to be held, cherished, the way one holds a lover after a coupling, after being laid bare and sharing in each other and feeling as if you have seen them and been seen, that comfort, I need to be seen, Abbie," the weight of her name hung in the air between them. "I do not ask for anything from you. But you asked for my innermost feelings on the manner, and that is the meat of it," 

Abbie moved towards Crane, closing the space between them rapidly, brushed hair away from his face and pressed her lips to his, gently, softly, she pulled away and met his eyes. "I see you, Ichabod," she whispered, putting her weight on him so that he was forced to lean backwards and capturing his lips with hers again. 

I see you.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Now for something ridiculous
> 
> for my purposes here, Abraham's head is visible to Abbie.

"Where's Crane?" Abraham sneered. 

Abbie struggled against her bonds. "None of your damn business, bastard," she hissed. 

"I'll find him, mark my words and when I do, you'll be sorry you weren't more co-operative,"

"He'll come for me," Abbie said, sure of herself.

"Oh he will, will he?"

"Always," 

"Always?" Abraham swaggered towards her and Abbie recoiled. "If you were to scream right now, he'd come running? loyal dog that he is?"

Abbie clamped her mouth shut. 

Abraham turned his head to the side, surveying her. She squirmed under his gaze. "You know, I can see the appeal, you're a fine specimen of a woman, Abigail Mills,"

"You keep your compliments to yourself,"

"Oh? why? only Crane may mutter pretty sweet things to you?"

"He's married,"

"We've all seen what good Crane's word is when it comes to his heart," Abraham said with a snarl. "I mean, I'm here aren't I? spurned by my betrothed because Ichabod had the nerve to betray my friendship for his pursuit of Katrina, and now poor girl, fretting herself because she worries over his bond with you, I who was only ever true to those I loved, am the demon, and Ichabod, pretty, well read Ichabod, he gets all the heroics, all of the girls," 

"It's nothing but jealousy with you, maybe if you hadn't been so petty,"

"You know I like a woman with a sharp tongue," he cut her off. "long hair, nice complexion," he reached to stroke her face and Abbie bit at him. He smiled. "such spirit,"

"I'll show you spirit if you'd let me out of these bonds, you want a fight, fight me like a man,"

"You want to spar, Abigail? is that what you want?"

"Yes," she ground out. 

"Meet in physical combat?"

"Are you deaf?"

"Shall I call that consent?"

"Yes, let me have a shot at you and let's see who survives,"

Instantly the bonds trapping Abbie fell away and she found herself falling off the wall and then crowded by Abraham, a hand to her waist, breathing on her neck, without preamble he pressed his lips to hers. His frame was massive and caged her in, but his kiss was slow, passionate, and terrifying. Abbie thrashed against him and stomped on his foot. "You, sick---" she heaved, wiping her mouth. 

"I should have warned you, the way I treat women tends to be far more amorous than the way I treat my male adversaries," he whispered wickedly as he let her go. "Now if you've had a moment to collect yourself, let's see what you can do, witness,"

Abbie reached for her gun. "I'd call pistols at dawn, but you'll be dead by then,"


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the unlikely event that she had survived, these two have surprisingly similar lives

Katrina watched Frank smiling at Jenny.

Cynthia watched Crane smiling at Abbie.

"I don't like it," they said in unison and then drank from their coffee. Here they were, both witches, both, for all intents and purposes estranged from their spouses, and both watching them seemingly fall in love with the Mills sisters. Which was a hard thing to watch considering that they rather liked the Mills girls. Cynthia trusted Abbie and Katrina found Jenny's unpredictability charming. 

But on the matter of Abbie and Crane smiling over some shared conclusion they'd just reached. Or Jenny gently shoving Frank, and the smile he directed her way afterwards, that, on THAT matter, they took rather serious issue. 

"Maybe it's nothing," Cynthia lied.

"Oh, I'm sure it's nothing," Katrina lied.

"I mean, I'm his wife," the said again. But deliberately playing dumb would not serve them for long. 

They both knew that.

 

But Cynthia still went home and kissed Frank, ignored the long curling hair on his collar.

and Katrina ignored the fact that Ichabod's hands smelled like Abbie. 

Ignorance was bliss enough, for now.

No matter how feigned it was.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Odd comforts

"Frank?" Cynthia called as she walked into the archives. "Frank, are you--" rustling behind the book shelves and Crane emerged. "Creeps Crane, you scared me,"

Crane, his nose still wedged in the book he just retrieved flicks his gaze up to her. "Oh, sorry, I did not mean to cause you undue stress,"

Cynthia spun about the room. "Is Frank, around?"

"Captain Irving and the Sisters Mills just departed, actually," Crane replied, setting the book on the table and clasping his hands behind his back. "Were they expecting you?"

"No, I just," Cynthia helplessly gestured to the lunch she'd packed for him. As far as Cynthia was concerned, her and Frank were still in a grey area, but she had thought with him being completely restored to his usual self they might have an honest go at trying again. Yes, she knew the divorce was finalized, and he was a free man to do as he pleased but, she kept remembering how relieved she had been to discover he was actually alive, and then the terror that his soul was compromised and well---suffice it to say her feelings about Frank Irving were very thoroughly muddled. She had hoped the surprise lunch she'd brought would have given her and Frank an opportunity to try and.....unmuddle it. 

"Ah," Crane gestured for her to take a seat. "I'm sure had he known--"

Cynthia raised a hand and exhaled. "Stop. I should have called ahead. I don't know what I was thinking coming over here with this anyway,"

Crane sat down opposite her, tented his fingers and leaned across the table. "You were thinking, Ms. Irving, that you would try and salvage whatever remains of your relationship with your husband," He pushed back from the table and shot to his feet. "And a fine effort you are making too, I cannot say that mine nor Katrina's efforts had ever been so steadfast in repairing our bond," 

"You guys were different," Cynthia said, tracing circles in the wood. "You had other world ending things to think about, no time for date nights or picnics or therapy or heart to hearts. Frank and I, there's no reason that we couldn't have tried harder. That I could have tried harder, I kept trying to make him choose between us and his job, but, I didn't know......" she pushed the basket away from her. "You can help yourself, if you'd like," 

Crane quirked a brow at her and then flipped the cover on the basket, his face lighting up for a moment at the sight of the spread. "Why this is a proper feast, are you sure?"

Cynthia smirked at him. "Knock yourself out Crane. I suppose I should go," She rose to her feet, straightening out her dress and picking up her bag when Crane grabbed her arm. Shocked, she turned to meet his gaze. His blue eyes were concentrated and intent.

"There comes a time when we must release the things we hold dear, no matter how much we think ourselves the better for them in our lives," he took her hand in his and smiled softly. "It takes two, Cynthia, and when you find yourself dancing the dance on your own, perhaps it is time to find a new partner," he said meaningfully.

Cynthia smiled at him and nodded. "You have a way with words Crane, I'll give you that. Enjoy the food, " and with that she spun on her heel and left.

Crane watched her go, and then hungrily descended on the basket she'd left behind.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Because someone's been dying to know.
> 
> This chapter is for Jel815

The team had split up, contrary to their usual formation. Abbie and Irving went left, Jenny and Crane had taken the right. They moved along stealthily, Crane holding a torch aloft to light their way. He stopped abruptly and Jenny collided with his back. "Oof, watch it Ichabod," she grumbled and stood back to find him stroking the stones of the wall curiously.

"These stones, there's a pattern in the grooves, I believe these were not part of the original stonework," he murmured reverently. Evidently hunting for a loose brick.

"Secret passageway coming right up," Jenny lifted plunged her boot into the wall and was relieved to feel it crumble under the impact. Crane looked over at her, clearly impressed.

"Well done Miss Jenny, after you," he gestured her onwards and Jenny swaggered in confidently before a bat shaped creature lunged at her. Large leathery wings, venomous fangs, and screeching like nails on a blackboard. She raised her gun and fired twice, injuring it but it had brought company. Ichabod was already firing his own rifle, and the two of them fought back to back demolishing the creatures when one landed a blow to Crane's head and the other to Jenny's arm. One last shot and it scuttled away, all of it's comrades dead. But Crane had a gash on his forehead and Jenny's arm was throbbing from what she suspected might be a fracture.

"Shit," she hissed as she held her arm. Crane staggered over to her corner, crashing to his knees. His eyes had a dazed look to them but she could tell he was fighting off the desire to nod off from the wound. 

"Miss Jenny?" he grasped wildly, patting the ground until he felt her foot, kept patting, up her legs, searching, hands, arms, face, patting her face to check for scratches, back down to arms, she hissed again with the pain and he stopped, his head cocked, listening. "Your arm?"

"Yes can't you see that's what I'm holding?" 

Crane turned his head again, opened and closed his mouth like a gaping fish, then listened. It was then Jenny realized Crane was more than dazed. His eyes were clouded over entirely, and the wound on his head that should have been bleeding blood oozed silver goo. "Crane?" Jenny rasped reaching for him and pressing him against the wall. "Can you hear me?"

"Quite well," Crane answered, though his head was still turned in the opposite direction. "It is the use of my eyes that eludes me. But my hearing actually seems much improved." He opened his mouth again and closed it. "We're alone for now," he said.

Jenny's eye's became saucers. Echo Location. Crane was going batty, literally. "That damned thing did something to you, we need to get out of here and find a cure for whatever," 

"Sssh" Crane placed a finger to her lips. "Above us," Jenny couldn't hear anything but she dared not argue, especially with the way Crane's ears were rotating back and forth like an animal, sensing things she couldn't. a shiver ran down her spine. 

"You're not well, Crane, we need to get out of here," She shot to her feet but Crane fumbled behind her, she took his hand and guided him, slowly, tentatively, Crane clicking intermittently and pulling her down another path. "This isn't the way we came," Jenny rasped.

"No but it's the way we need to go, Miss Jenny you must trust me,"

Jenny doubted that. The only thing she must do was stay black and die. But Crane had already led her off course and she couldn't ditch him now. Not with a good conscience that is. Unbelievably, they came to a stairwell that led up into an empty room. Jenny whooped with triumph, but Crane, blind to where they had emerged found he could only smile blithely. "Even handicapped as you are, you're still a marvel Crane," Jenny laughed and threw her good arm around him. Crane wrapped his arms around her in turn and suddenly Jenny could smell him. Earth. Musk. Warmth. Cinnamon? And then Jenny had a wicked, though highly inappropriate idea. She pulled away just enough, turned her head and kissed Ichabod Crane. Because, well, she'd always been curious. He tasted like dark roast coffee, topped with whipped cream, she ran one hand through his hair and heard him moan. She broke away and stifled a laugh. 

"Miss Jenny?"

"Yeah Crane?"

"Did you....did you kiss me?" he asked, whirling around the room, trying to place her. 

"Kiss you? eww Crane, we're on the job" Jenny smirked. Let him believe the whole thing a side effect from that Bat venom. Let him believe he'd imagined it. "Now come along blind billy bob, we need to find Abbie and Irving" Crane followed her voice and the two went hunting for the rest of Team Witness.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Because that last chapter was too fun

Some days later after the bat incident Jenny drops by the cabin to pick up some of Abbie's things. Abbie is held up at work so Jenny offers to do the favour. All is well and normal. They had found a cure for Crane's curious bat venom affliction and Jenny had very purposefully led everyone to believe the whole ordeal had made Crane delusional. He had even bought it. So she was entirely unprepared for Ichabod to bring up that moment in the empty room as she made for the door. 

"I am not entirely sure I believe it,"

"Believe what?"

"That I had so taken leave of my senses that I was imagining things, I recall being rather quite lucid. My impaired sight at the time not a factor in my cognitive process, I do believe I led us from the tunnels,"

Jenny sighed and turned to face Crane and felt her heart race. Crane wasn't wearing his coat, for starters, that was startling in itself, but just his shirt and trousers, shirt sleeves rolled up. His hair was down and the look in his eyes seemed a cross between irritation and downright outrage. 

"You lied upon my person, casting everything I said in doubt" He stated, prowling towards her. "Discredited me, and I know it is not a falsehood, you kissed me!" he accused.

"This again Crane? come on,"

Crane growled and flung his arms in the air. Crane had perfect memory but he did NOT have a fantastical imagination. So he KNEW Jennifer Mills had lied when she'd said she hadn't kissed him while he was momentarily....compromised. And he knew this because he certainly had never had reason to fantasize before, once or twice he might have fleetingly imagined a kiss with Abbie, but ever since that bat ordeal in the Tunnels he found himself plagued with rethinking and reliving that kiss. And he was furious she was denying it. "The fact that you think you can deliberately pave over your actions greatly vexes me," 

"Heaven forbid some should, vex, Ichabod Crane," Jenny swallowed. He was deathly close now. And Jenny wasn't quite sure what to expect. 

"I dislike having my character questioned. My sanity of all things," 

"what do you want me to do? go stand in the middle of town and yell 'I snogged Ichabod Crane and it was jolly good fun'?" 

"Your impertinence," Crane harrumphed, closed his eyes and tried again. "I would like to prove to myself, I did not imagine it,"

"Exactly how----"

"you are going to kiss me, Miss Jenny, and if it bares any resemblance to what I am SURE I remember, it'll be proof enough to me that you are a fantastic liar," 

Jenny held her breath and almost laughed. That strange look in Crane's eyes suddenly made sense. He was not angry. Miffed, perhaps, but he was hungry, predatory, and Jenny decided she liked it. She hadn't thought much of when she'd kissed him, chalked it up to research, but then, this could just be her gathering, further data.....

"Well?" Jenny licked her lips. "You gonna prove your stupid point or no----" Crane cut her off, swallowing her words.

She twined her fingers in his hair, moaned, unashamed as she pulled him in closer. Gasped when she felt his hands roaming over her, surprised herself when she leapt and wrapped her legs around him. 

If that experimental kiss had been research......Jenny would have enough.....'findings' to fill a book later.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meanwhile on the other side of the Bat Tunnels.
> 
> I also have a truly blasphemous ship coming up but I need to work up the nerve for it.

Frank cursed as he stumbled over another stone. "Exactly why did we pair off this way again?" he asked "The usual split has never failed us before,"

Abbie waved the torch ahead of her, not looking over her shoulder. "Crane and I agreed that while our bond is important, it can't hurt to strengthen our over all relationship as a team,"

Frank paused. "So what you're saying is, you and Crane have agreed to" and he put air quotes around it "See other people?"

Abbie sighed. "God, nothing like that. And what IS that supposed to mean?" Abbie asked, clearing away a cobweb and wiping her hand on her jeans. Frank hummed behind her.

"Oh you know, all of 'our bond' this and 'our bond' that and I like it when you spank me that goes on between you two," 

Abbie whirled on him and jabbed a finger in his chest. "I have never, ever, said that,"

"Out loud," 

"Oh my God, okay no, there is nothing going on between me and Crane, he's not my type. Besides, what about all of the giggling between you and Jenny, hmm?"

"Hey hey, I like fruit cake but I don't like it THAT nutty," Irving shrugged. "She's not really, my type either," he said, leaning into her. Abbie abruptly turned around, feeling her face flush and continued leading the way down the tunnel. 

"So what is your type," she called over her shoulder.

"Small, firecracker like in spirit,"

"Short,"

"I prefer, fun-sized," He leered and Abbie smiled to herself.

"I think I heard something that way," she swung the torch to illuminate a new passage. 

"Lead the way, Mills. While we're at it, what's your type?" He hustled a bit to keep close. These halls were creepy as all get out, and he didn't want to lose sight of her. 

"Hmm," Abbie stalled, peering up at the ceiling. Were those foot prints? "Um, tall, dark, handsome, you know, the usual," she laughed.

"Not picky are you?"

"What does that mean?"

"Well, it's not hard to match that criteria, hell, I match it,"

"I might like them older." she conceded as they turned a corner. 

"200 hundred years older or normal older?" he teased. 

"Humph, normal, why do you---" suddenly Irving had her pressed against the wall, a finger to her lips.

"Did you hear that?" he whispered. Abbie shook her head wildly no, but her heart was racing a mile per minute. She did have a bad feeling about those tracks on the ceiling though. "Keep absolutely still," he warned and Abbie complied, listening, completely distracted with trying to discern if there was something prowling around down there with them that she screamed when she felt Irving's lips on her neck. He reeled away from her, chuckling. 

"Are you out of your God damn mind?"

"What, Crane embraces you when there's a scare."

"A scare? more like if we survived something and he has never---wait, you didn't hear anything did you, you deliberately faked me out!" 

Smirking at her Irving stepped in closer. " it wasn't so bad, was it?"

"Now is not the time for--get down!" she yelled and aimed at the creature hurtling towards them, it let out a piercing scream and fell to the floor, Irving whirled around, hand on his gun, ready for more. 

"Was that it?" 

"I think so," Abbie replied and then grabbed Irving by the front of his shirt, yanking him down to her level. "this is how it goes," she hissed. "You survive something, an attack for example," she nodded to the dead bat creature. "And then you seek physical comfort," she purred and locked her lips with his. His hands found her hips and Abbie pushed him against the wall. 

"If I could put you in my pocket I would," Frank breathed between kisses. "Pull you out special for moments like these," 

Abbie gave a breathy laugh as she reached for the buttons on his shirt but stilled when she heard gun shots and yelling.

Irving rolled his eyes. "Ah hell, really? they decide to get into trouble now?"

Abbie pulled away, smoothed her hair and gave Frank a grin. "Duty Calls, let's roll" and took back off in the direction they had come, in hopes that they would find Jenny and Crane. Irving admired her form in motion for a moment before charging after her.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For Jel815
> 
> You know, in the event Katrina and Henry hadn't died.

"I would be loyal to you," Henry murmured as he placed a bouquet before her on the table. Abbie still couldn't quite understand how she had allowed herself to be talked into dinner with Henry, but there she was, at his house. He'd just put flowers on the table. A Truce, she reminded herself. She was there to hopefully establish some sort of truce, join together, repair the Crane family ties and all fight the good fight together. But she should have been suspicious of Katrina picking out that red dress with the bell sleeves and fit and flare bottom. Should have been suspicious of Jenny doing her hair and spraying it with perfume. Hell, she should have been suspicious of Crane escorting her to the door like a father does his daughter. But there she was, and instead of Abbie entreating Henry to turn away from evil and join good, she was listening to him make the most absurd and bizarre plea. 

"As loyal as you are to your mother and father?" she asked, reaching for her glass of wine, she sniffed it, held it up to the light. Henry watched her examine the drink with a small bemused smile. 

"If I had a mind to poison you, dear Abigail, do you think I would use such a tawdry device as the wine?"

"I think you would. Because you'd think that little speech would disarm me entirely and eliminate suspicion." she put the glass back down and leaned back in the surprisingly comfy chair. Henry was wearing a crisp collared shirt, vest and trousers. He smelled of warm musk. A pleasant scent, she hated to admit. And the table layout was nice too. But this, this whole, venture, well it felt like something out of a dream, or more accurately a nightmare.

"Surely you know how I care for you?"

Abbie gave a small, innocent smile, her eyes wide in disbelief. "I do believe you have cursed my existence on countless occasions Henry,"

"I hate you by necessity, not by want," He quipped, his eyes sparkling. "I could forgive your less desirable, honourable qualities, if you'd stand by my side, sweet Abigail,"

"If I didn't know any better I'd think you want me," she said seriously.

"Oh, but that's precisely right, Abbie. I have grown rather infatuated with you. One might say enamoured. Your strength, your dedication, your unwavering loyalty and care for your comrade in arms," He suddenly appeared at her side at the table, leaning in he whispered in her ear. "I have longed for that brand of devotion, and I have longed to give it," 

Abbie shivered, the words, the words themselves, didn't sound bad, but the mouth that spoke it. She glanced at Henry out the corner of her eye. How old was this man, sixty, sixty five? not to mention Crane's son. Not to mention part witch, wizard, whatever. Not to mention formerly a henchman of Moloch. No, that's one too many skeletons in Henry's closet that even if she were to....to what, consent to be....courted? by him? No she couldn't possibly consider--- But Henry had suddenly grasped her hand and pulled her to her feet, turning her towards him. Her hands were ensconced in his own, clutching them tightly to his chest. His grip was like iron. There was sweat gathering on her neck. The room felt too warm.

"Do you hear my thudding heart?" he continued. "It beats with vengeance, with dark wants, but, it beats too, because I am a living thing, no matter how cursed," his voice was gentle, a little tortured. "And all living things crave love, do they not? no matter how despised and rejected? Have you never wanted for love and not found it?" he asked.

Abbie thought on her childhood, the uncertainty of it. No. This was just Henry playing mind games again. She licked her lips and pretended not to notice that Henry's gaze had fixated on them. 

"Join us, Henry" she said calmly, trying to sound like he wasn't completely rattling her nerve. "I want to believe you can rehabilitated as anyone else, show it to us now, fight beside us, not against us,"

"But it will still be father at your side, and I a sidekick," he spat and there was a bitterness in his eyes. "It will still be father choosing mother against your better judgement," he closed his eyes a moment and then opened them again, tugging her closer to him. "No, Abigail, don't you see? while that balance is upset no matter who fights at your side, there will always be division among you. Your bond will always conflict and threaten mother, and their marriage will always upset and undermine decisions that two Witnesses should make alone. But were Father and mother reconciled, and you and I one, no one would need compete with the counterpart for their voice to be heard. You no longer a threat to mother, her no longer one to you. The Witnesses could work together without there being the subtext of personal relationships in the way. The lines would be clear," he smiled then, proud of revealing this brilliant strategy.

Abbie let his words sink in. Crane was often beside himself between her and Katrina, it made a small, tiny, bit of sense. His hands were warm and soft around hers. She wondered if Henry was working magic on her. But no, that was her moving her own feet closer to him. He talked a good game, she'd give him that. 

"Be mine, Abigail, and I will join you. Be mine, and I will be foresworn, to you, and you to me. Be mine, and know that you will be cherished, and that I would take up arms against hell itself in your name," 

She was trembling, not just from the weight of his words, but what it could mean, for all of them, for Team Witness, if they could all start working together. This had been part of her mission, to get him to switch sides, for good, but was bargaining with her heart something she had agreed to do? Is that what she had signed on for when she'd agreed to this? 

No.

Yet, she didn't fight him off when he drew her into his arms, rubbing them gently, feeling how she trembled. When he pressed his nose to her hair, and she knew he had kissed her temple. Her stomach did not revolt against her to realize how solidly warm and cozy and comforting he was. Devil he was still. Could she truly trust anything he said?

"I'd give my word," he whispered, as if having read her mind. She inhaled deeply. 

"What kind of word, can you give me, that I might give myself to secure our Team?" 

Swiftly he drew back picked up the knife on the table and cut his wrist. "May my blood boil in my veins and I die an instant death the moment I betray you, or any member of Team Witness," then he sprinkled the salt from the shaker on the cut, and rubbed his wound, gritting his teeth against the pain and Abbie watched the skin as it knitted back together, and a script scrawled itself across his wrist. She took his hand in hers and read it.

"I swear Fealty to Abigail Mills and Team Witness, lest I die," 

She gasped and looked up at him but Henry had her in his arms by then. Her breathing was shallow as he tipped her chin up to him. He smiled at her. She tried not to notice the endearing lines on his face, the laughter lines around his eyes, the errant curl falling over his forehead. Not thinking, she brushed it away. She saw it then. The darkness melt from Henry's eyes, and something new kindle in them. That oath he made was real. He was bound now, to her and the Team. She sighed. She'd done her job on behalf of the cause. Abbie's eyes fluttered closed. 

And Henry kissed her. Softly. Smoothly. With care. With tenderness. He kept one of her hands clasped in his. And his other arm locked around her waist. She wrapped an arm around his neck, and heard the soft moan he made as she pressed in closer. He was melting in her grasp, overcome by love. She was crumbling in his grasp, overwhelmed that a beast could be so touched and moved by kindness. She kept kissing him. He kept kissing her. Their hearts opened. An impossible nightmarish union in exchange for a chance to create a possible rescued world. 

Abbie had done her job.

Now Henry would do his.

Love her faithfully.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For Nubia
> 
> Somehow, they figured out how to turn Abraham back into a mortal. But Ichabod never thought Bram would be more trouble alive than dead.

"She's a beauty, I gotta admit," Bram murmured as he knocked back his glass. Crane gave him a sideways glance and sipped slowly from his own beverage.

"Yes. The Leftenant is a striking woman," 

Bram leered. "Striking? No, no Crane, you're not giving her credit where its due. I mean, she's strong, loyal, extremely intelligent, patient, because God knows, only someone with supreme patience could entertain you when you go on a tangent,"

"As friends, comrades in arms, you tolerated me quite well," Crane quipped, draining his glass. The bell dinged over head and in strolled the Mills sisters, as if on cue. Abbie walked around Bram's stool warily. They were all still a bit uneasy about Bram being 'back' but knowing they had one less horseman to deal with was an immense comfort. 

"Greetings, ladies" Bram called, too cheerily. He had been restored in better spirits than Crane had ever known him to be in. He was full over energy, exuberant, so excited about having his life back, so much so he seemed almost entirely oblivious to the uneasiness the gang felt around him. Jenny bobbed her head at him as she slid on a stool, Abbie gave him a weak smile and sat on the other side of her sister. Bram continued to smile in Abbie's direction until she felt his eyes burning holes in the side of her head. She met his gaze for a flicker of a second, saw the beaming grin on his face. He looked so, cheerful, it was disturbing.

"How are you this evening Miss Abigail?" he asked, his voice smooth as velvet. 

Abbie choked on her drink. Surely Crane would object to Bram using her name, and no sooner had she thought it that Crane began spluttering in disbelief. Mutterings on propriety and respect when Bram cut him off with a wave of his hand. "If Miss Mills," he sneered, "Was offended, she'd say so. She has enough presence of mind to speak her mind on her own behalf. Does it trouble you if I use your name?" he asked, turning to her. 

Abbie burst out laughing. "I've been telling Crane that for ages, no, it doesn't bother me, Abraham," 

"Bram," he corrected and she saw Crane visibly cringe. 

"Nicknames for all," he grumbled. Bram nudged Ichabod.

"I'd say it's a step in the right direction, wouldn't you? Now, Abbie, or Abigail?"

"Abbie," she conceded, smirking behind her glass. Jenny watched the entire exchange with raised brows, and Crane looked on with his own brows deeply furrowed.

************************************  
Two weeks later Crane glared down at the flowers on Abbie's desk.

"What," he asked, picking them up by the stems and regarding them with disgust. "Are these?" 

Abbie looked up at him. "What are you talking about Crane? you've been leaving these for me everyday for the past two weeks," she picked up a little card note. "They've been really sweet actually, helping me through hard days at work, look, on this one you wrote 'When times are trying, You, Abbie, try harder, and will be victorious for it," she finished with a smile. "You've been a really great friend,"

Crane threw the flowers in the trash and Abbie exclaimed. 

"Hey!"

"Did it not cross your mind, Leftenant, that I never address you as 'Abbie'? even in written correspondence? These have all been from Abraham" he spat.

Abbie's face flushed, she had thought it odd, perhaps on the first day, but by the tenth, she'd reasoned that maybe Crane was just beginning to relax a little. But now, unexpectedly, her heart warmed a little to think it was Abraham. Just a bit.

"Well, I should thank him then, it was....kind of him" she tried to hide her small smile. Crane gritted his teeth and left with a huff.

************************************

Crane stopped in his tracks outside of Abbie's home. "Abraham, I demand you tell me what you are doing here,"

Bram turned with a smile, carrying more of those damnable flowers, and it looked like a bottle of wine. "I came to visit Abbie, of course,"

"Yes, but why," Crane pressed. "Miss Mills is an honourable woman, I will not stand idly by while you---"

"While I what, court?" Bram jeered, and he had the pleasure of watching attempt and fail at wrestling his temper.

"She is not yours to court!" Crane retorted hotly.

"Oh? then whose?"

"Certainly not yours Abraham! I feel you are doing this out of some twisted sense of revenge for my marriage to Katrina and--"

"Must everything be about you? Perhaps I actually find her interesting. Do you think yourself the only man capable of acknowledging a beautiful and learned woman? or do they all belong to you and you alone?" 

Crane stepped in closer to Abraham. "I'm warning you,"

Bram spread his arms wide. "You'd hit a man bearing flowers and wine?"

Just then the door swung open and Abbie appraised the two men on her doorstep. "Um, what are you doing here?"

Bram recovered before Crane did, much to Crane's chagrin. "I came by, bearing gifts, and thought well, that we might chat, out here,"

"With wine?"

"I am not opposed to wine on your door step, if I was not welcome inside," he smiled that bright smile that Abbie hated to admit was becoming sort of charming. She turned to Crane. 

"And you? are you joining us for wine?" 

Crane swore his first modern swear word before storming off.

***********************************

Crane berated Bram for days. When he left the liquor store, when he went to the florists, the chocolatiers, when he visited Abbie's home, when he visited her at work, when he barged in to the archives, THEIR PLACE is railed in his head and invited her to lunch. He crumpled up letters and notes that he was leaving HIS Miss Mills. He'd even found one at the Cabin!

Until one day, Bram got to the station before Crane did when Abbie got off work, and slipping her arm in Brams, Abbie pecked his cheek as Bram locked an arm around her and they marched off, their heads knitted together, headed for dinner, probably, laughing all the way. 

Crane had never known he could be so furious. 

And he couldn't believe he was thinking of killing Bram.

Again.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crane might have a thing for witches

"You're rather good at that," Crane interrupted, snapping a twig as he did so. Cynthia startled and the tree she had just set blooming shrivelled up in shock. "Shy things, aren't they" Crane mused, peering up at the curled up blossoms. They seemed to be aware of him, swaying gently in his direction.

"You're very adept at sneaking up at people, Crane," Cynthia muttered with a smile, cracking her neck and refocusing on her task.

"Military training," Crane quipped, as he walked around the tree, observing the changes Cynthia orchestrated, verdant green moss seeped up from the crags in the wood and once more the blooms began flourishing.

"Katrina had a knack for nature, once,"

Cynthia concentrated on changing the colour of the blooms from red to white, then purple. Crane watched with fascination. "She struggled with her power. Before she gave in to darkness," his eyes flashed in Cynthia's direction "It all seemed natural to her then. How soon would it be for you to turn on us, I wonder?"

With a wave of her arm all of the blooms fell, raining down around them. Cynthia turned to face Crane. "Pardon me?"

"The bell awoke all of witching kind, yourself included, evidently," Crane swept his arm towards the steady falling shower of blossoms. "You would have been part of her coven, had she succeeded, I must know if all witches are stronger when they turn to the evil in their hearts,"

Cynthia twiddled her fingers and made the flowers dance around them, several deliberately assembling themselves as a bouquet and floating towards Ichabod, who grasped them lightly. "Does this look like evil to you?" she asked, sparks flitting around, turning into butterflies. Crane watched, breathless. This was what magic should look like, other worldly, yes, supernatural, but extraordinary, beautiful even. So much of his encounters with magic had been laced with death and devilry and demonic intent he had forgotten magic could ever be benevolent, instead of malevolent. 

"Does this look like the work of an inherently wicked heart?" she asked. 

Crane suddenly felt ashamed of his quick accusations. "I apologize, Miss Irving, my failure to notice Katrina's....tendencies has greatly cost us and has taxed my mind as of late.....I fear I was quick to pass judgment. What you've managed just now, was quite lovely," he smiled. and when Cynthia smiled back something in his heart fluttered. Surely not, he reprimanded himself. But there he was nose deep in the flowers she had given him. He recalled with bitterness the amount of difficulty that simple act of beauty had taken Katrina, not long ago. Now he admired how effortless it was for Cynthia, how natural. She was not concealing her magic. She was embracing it and letting it flourish into the beautiful verdant, bountiful thing it was.

"What purpose will you have for it?" he asked.

Cynthia laughed, hearty and melodious. " Maybe I'll quit being a lawyer and go into flower arranging," Cynthia paused in her machinations and met Crane's gaze,she cocked her head to the side. "But I won't be using it for evil," she assured. "Not all witches tend towards that particular brand of madness. You know, you're shockingly handsome," 

"Do you think so?" Crane asked to quickly and then felt himself blush. But he had stepped closer to Cynthia, without even knowing it. She nodded at him. 

"Lovely hair," she reached to stroked it, twirling a golden brown strand around her finger before turning it into a golden scarf that she wrapped gently around his neck. Crane laughed merrily at the trick, and stroked the new garment. 

"A scarf made of my own hair, what an advancement," his eyes twinkled. Cynthia flushed at the praise.

"It suits you, brings out the blue in your---"

Crane suddenly held the edge of the scarf up to her cheek. "It brings out the gold, in your brown eyes, Miss Irving," the space between them was much less than it had been when they'd started out, but neither seemed eager to escape the thrall they were in.

Cynthia met Crane's steady gaze, clasped his hand to her cheek. " Go on," she breathed. "I'm not a dear Crane, I won't spook,"

Crane smiled gently, brushed her hair behind her ears and kissed her, gently, and then with more fervour. His arms coming up around her, crushing her body to his. Her body was soft and curvy in all of the right ways, her lips were full, she matched his pace, a slow burn. Flowers began raining down around them again. 

It felt, in a word,

magical.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For Nubia
> 
> challenge accepted

"Crane!" Irving hollered as he lumbered into the Cabin, only to startle Katrina in the midst of her practice.

"Captain Irving" she exclaimed, moving to block Frank's view. Frank looked at her curiously.

"What you hiding there, red?"

"I assure you Captain Irving I don't...." but Frank had already side stepped her and was peering in the book she was looking at and surveying her ingredients. 

"Why Mrs. Crane, this title says seduction spell. You planning on bewitching Crane?"

"You are mistaken," Katrina quipped, and swiftly flipped the book shut. 

Frank chuckled. "No shame in it, desperate times call for desperate measures,"

"And what would you know of my desperation, Captain?" 

"I know that rumour has it you two haven't been biblically joined since you returned. And that Crane doesn't spend enough time at home to, recapture the magic even if he was so inclined,"

"What makes you think he does not want it?" Katrina's face flushed with embarrassment.

Frank raised his brows. "Um, the spell you were just preparing to get him in the mood? might have been a tip off," 

Katrina huffed and tucked her hair behind her ear. "In time past, Ichabod needed little provocation to take me to bed--I apologize for my bold speech, Captain. It is unbecoming of me,"

"It's the year 2015, women talk about sex. They want it, they tell men how to do it. Leave your shame in the 18th century, it has no place here."

"Ichabod, won't, discuss....."

"You're not surprised, are you? Crane is very old world sensibility. You aren't. You could adapt to this world quicker if you'd stop shutting yourself down to meet Crane half way. Besides.....maybe his heart just isn't there anymore."

Katrina whirled on Frank chest heaving, "What makes you say such things?"

Frank casually saunters over to her. "The man spends a year trying to rescue you from Purgatory, you manage maybe what, two kisses, three? while in that limbo, he finally gets you back, you have one date," Frank holds up on finger. " Absence makes the heart grow fonder does it not? that's the saying right? Regardless of your betrayals, you should have had a passionate make up by now. Some angry groping. But nothing. That's why you're resorting to that spell, but Crane won't love you for it. He'd figure out, somehow, and he'd think it just another trick. You'd better find another way to quench your thirst,"

"And what would you suggest, Captain?" Katrina moved hesitantly closer to him.

"A new hairstyle? or a perfume? maybe just go for it, impulsiveness might catch him off guard and he might---" Katrina grabbed Frank's collar and crushed her mouth to his. She threw her arms around him and moulded herself to his body. She grabbed for his hands, guiding them as she backed him over the couch, they toppled over, tumbling on the floor until Katrina landed on top of him. Frank flailed in shock but his rationality skipped town quickly as he felt Katrina's urgent movements. She broke apart from him for just a moment and Frank looked up at the red headed woman straddling him. Her hair was mussed, her cheeks and the top of her bosom flushed. Her lips swollen and her eyes hungry. And Frank thought to himself, for the first time ever, because this word did NOT exist in his everyday vocabulary, that Katrina looked, ravishing. Frank felt his mouth go dry as Katrina smirked and rolled her hips against him. Frank groaned. This was bad news bears, and judging by the look on Katrina's face she knew it too, but it looked like this woman wanted trouble.....and if she kept.....moving.....like.....that....she was gonna get it.....

"Think this through," he ground out. "Do you really--"

"Yes," she whispered before kissing him again.

Frank pulled apart, his hands drifting towards her hips. "No but do you honestly--"

"Yes," she repeated insistently, pressing against him. She caught his mouth with hers and reached for the buttons on his shirt.

"What---brought---this---on?!"

Katrina leaned back and smirked evilly. "I believe you have inspired my own, women's movement, Captain. You said something about women giving directions?"

Frank gulped. "Yes"

Katrina whispered in his ear. "Well, if you'd be so kind as to oblige, I want you to........"

Frank had no idea what he'd just gotten himself into.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How do we feel about slash, gang?
> 
> Here goes nothing!

"I want to understand more of your, bond, with my husband," Katrina said slowly. Abbie rifled through books in the archives. There was a tome Crane had asked her to locate while him and Irving investigated an artifact with Hawley.

"It's nothing special," Abbie said absently, reaching for another book on the shelf above her, huffed in annoyance when she realized she was too short. Katrina reached around her and elegantly retrieved it. She handed the book to Abbie. 

"I disagree," she replied, locking eyes with the Lieutenant. Abbie tugged on the book but Katrina's grip remained firm.

"Listen," she tugged, "Crane and I have a mission, we have trust, communication, something you two lack," she pointed out, tugging the book out of the witches grasp. Katrina's eyes narrowed.

"Some would also say you have, chemistry,"

Abbie laughed, turning the book upside down to understand a diagram. "Who ever's saying that is mistaken. Nothing 'tween me and Crane but good old Apocalypse stopping." 

Katrina leaned over her shoulder. "And that is all?" she asked, reaching around Abbie, she righted the book and set it down on the table. 

Abbie, noticing Katrina's close proximity stepped back a pace. "Absolutely all," she assured, a little uneasy as the other woman advanced. 

"I've seen the way he looks at you, and you at him," 

"Katrina--"

"The way he holds you, when he thinks you're in danger,"

"Crane loves you---"

Katrina's arm lashed out, grabbed Abbie by the arm and pulled her in close, too close. Abbie fought, but she strongly suspected Katrina was using magic to strengthen her hold.

"He looks at you as if he wishes he could taste your lips, do not deny it. I know the look of longing in my husbands eyes," She reeled Abbie in closer still and Abbie could feel her heart hammering.

Something strange was happening here, and she didn't like the unpredictability of the situation.

"I would be displeased, should he act on it. But I will satisfy his curiosity, and tell him how you taste, myself,"

Abbie opened her mouth to protest but that was a bad move as Katrina closed the very scant distance between them, twined a hand in Abbie's hair as the other fell to her waist. She pushed Abbie against the wall, her tongue exploring Abbie's mouth. Katrina moaned. She would tell Ichabod his Lieutenant tasted of honey, vanilla, and cinnamon. That Abbie had fought for half a beat before giving in.

She would tell Ichabod she hadn't at all felt inclined to stop. 

And she wouldn't have had Abbie not suddenly remembered herself and pushed her away. Abbie's eyes were too bright, her face flushed, she heaved great gulping breaths of air. 

"I have never--in all my life----I can't believe you just----ugh!" Abbie huffed, grabbed Katrina again and gave her one more rough kiss, then a slap, and then stormed out of the archives. Katrina touched her stung cheek with a smile. She could still hear Abbie cursing down the hall. 

She would tell Ichabod that he wasn't the only one who had a special bond with Miss Mills.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For Nubia 
> 
> threesome challenge, Ultimate time shift? 
> 
> somehow, 1770 Crane, let's call him Captain otherwise this will get confusing---found himself confronted with his modern day self. And Abbie finds herself caught in between, so to speak.
> 
> and i apologize this might not become an actual threesome.
> 
> also Katrina has already died and become ash or whatever.

The Captain watches as the other man, his future self, scoops Abbie up in his arms. He finds this intimacy unsettling. He was sure Miss Mills would have mentioned if she and him were coupled in this future of hers, yet she did not, and there she was carrying on with this....modern version of him. Wearing his hair down and a ratty coat and being almost entirely everything that he, in his 1770 sensibilities is not. 

Crane doesn't even realize they have company until Captain clears his throat, then he drops Abbie, who luckily lands on her feet and they both turn to take in past Crane staring back at them. Crane stands before Abbie, moving her protectively behind him but Abbie pushes him away and approaches the doppleganger.

"Crane?"

"yes?"

"I mean that Crane," she nods over. "Captain?" 

He sweeps a bow. "Miss Mills"

"How?"

"It seems the spell has brought my past self forward."

"Shouldn't his presence here, cancel you out?" Abbie frets. "This is wrong, you can't have two of the same character in the same timeline,"

"I'm right here," Captain bristles. "This surely can't be me," he gestures to Crane who bristles at the statement. 

"And what do you mean by that, Captain?" 

Abbie watches the exchange, and finds it unsettling that for all intents and purposes, Crane is arguing with himself. And here she thought they would get along.

"You are over familiar!" Captain accuses, gesturing to Abbie. "You are not wed or in any way betrothed and carry on with such, flagrant affection."

"It's called a hug," Abbie reminds the captain. "We went over this, I gave you one, I told you it's more common here,"

"No no, that, 'hug' was near indecent. All of that hair petting and bunching of another's clothes between your hands. It's borderline passion. It's highly inappropriate." 

Crane clears his throat. "I must say I'm not enjoying this. At all,"

"You think I am?" Abbie asks, feeling tired already. "Captain," she calls and past Crane comes over. 

"You did not believe me fully, even then, but you must now. I....well, welcome. It might take me a few days to sort this out however, we're going to need a story for you."

"A story?" Captain queries.

"Well, unless we all want to go with Ichabod Crane has a long lost twin?"

*************************

A week later Abbie has found the spell that will send Captain back to his time. To die. Abbie shudders. Tonight is farewell. In the end, they had decided it best for Captain and Crane to alternate days outside, with Captain borrowing from Crane's wardrobe and quickly adapting to 2015. It was almost becoming disquietingly hard to distinguish between modern day Crane and the old one. She prepared dinner, setting her spell ingredients aside. They'd all eat together, and then say their farewells. She was just cleaning up the kitchen when she heard the door. "Who goes there?" she calls and Crane?Captain? comes through the door. Whichever one it is the way he greets her will tell. A bow at the waist does it. "Hey Captain,"

"Miss Mills" he answers cheerily.

"I made dinner, for your last night," she smiles. He strides into the kitchen, leaning over her shoulder he inhales deeply. 

"Smells delicious," he looks at her. "The food smells good too," he smirks that smirk that no matter what the year is will always be fundamentally Crane. Abbie laughs with surprise.

"You adapted to casual flirting quicker than your counterpart, that's for sure," 

"I just like to maintain a sense of decorum," Crane answers coming in from the back door. And just like that Abbie is surrounded by some version of Ichabod Crane in her kitchen. She unwittingly backs up into the Captain who has also adapted even quicker to casual touching than Crane had and wraps an arm around her waist. Abbie looks down pointedly at it before looking up at Crane who is smiling a wicked smile at her.

"What's going on here, I prepared dinner for you two, before I send this one here," she jerks a thumb into Captain. "Back to his time and I feel like I'm being---ahem" Abbie turns her head as Crane suddenly crosses the room, standing too close, settling his own hands on her hips. "Ambushed," she wheezes. A Crane in front and one behind Abbie thinks she might hyperventilate. There's no room to hide feelings with these two, because they're both just as perceptive. If Captain doesn't feel her heart ramping up then Crane will see how her face has flushed. If Crane doesn't notice how her hair stands on end Captain will have realized that there's sweat beading up on her neck. "Um, it's a little, cozy here, don't you think?"

"Cozy?" Crane sidles closer. "I don't think so, do you, friend?"

"Not at all" Captain replies, taking a step forward with Abbie still locked between them they press in on either end. Abbie wants to scream. Or shrivel up and die. 

"The food will get cold," she says weakly. Desperately wanting a reprieve from the close proximity of these two. 

Crane and Captain exchange a look before abruptly stepping away from her, so suddenly she staggers and steadies herself before shaking herself out. She glares at the two of them. "I'm going to change," she says steadily. "And then we're going to have a nice dinner, and then we'll be sending your playmate," she addresses Crane and then narrows her eyes at Captain, "Home,"

"Very well, Miss Mills" they answer in unison, and the echoing timbres of Crane's voice is both beautiful and irritating.

*******************************

Abbie has only just finished rummaging through her dresser drawer, she's found a clean top, it's just a peasant blouse. Creamy yellow in colour, she slips it over her head and looks in the mirror and yelps. Because there are the Twins Crane in the reflection. She turns around. "What are you doing sneaking up on me?"   
"Captain wished to observe," Crane explains nonchalantly. 

"That's voyeurism, and it's kind of an offence,"

Crane shrugs. Abbie knits her brows together. These two are acting next level strange, and she wants to figure out why. But somehow they became friends in the past week and now they're in cahoots, and heaven only knows what they've got planned for her. 

"That blouse is most fetching, Miss Mills," Captain nods. Crane agrees with him. She watches the identical heads of hair nod, wearing almost identical clothes and she shivers all over. 

"Alright, dinner time," she slips past them, narrowly, but they both manage to each grab one of her hands in theirs. Arms swinging, they march back out to the kitchen where Crane and Captain have already laid out the food. And lit candles. And drawn the curtains. And.....put on soft music........Abbie's stomach drops. Is this a farewell dinner or a seduction?

They guide her to a seat at the table, put a napkin on her lap, push her in, pour her wine, and then take their spots at opposite ends of the table. They eat with gusto, and laugh, and Abbie, gradually joins in. But it's hard to enjoy her own meal when Crane and Captain keep looking at her like they'd rather devour her instead. They'd serve me up on a damn platter if they could, she thinks as she sips her wine. Before her glass is empty Captain refills it. When they pass the food around their hands linger too long, they smile too much, looking over their glasses at her as they drink, and making obscene sounds of pleasure with each bite. The whole meal feels profane and Abbie is sure she would be fire engine red if she weren't naturally chocolate brown in skin tone. She is beyond grateful when she sees they have cleared their plates and is itching to grab those spell ingredients. She's walked into something strange this evening, she knows it, and she wants to stop her life from becoming even more stranger than fiction than it already is. Crane quickly clears the table, entirely, leaving just their glasses and wine. 

Abbie makes a beeline for the table with the supplies but Crane grabs her hand and steers her to the couch where Captain is already waiting. He seats her there, and Captain pulls her closer so that she is reclining against him, and Crane sweeps her legs up in his lap. 

"what about the spell?" Abbie asks

Captain nuzzles behind her ear. "You have been so kind, and gracious, and the best companion to us both, in present and past, we wanted to thank you," He whispers and then kisses her neck. Abbie jolts and locks eyes with Crane who is looking on with a strange look of pride on his face. She'd kick him if she wasn't so utterly distracted by Captain kissing and nuzzling her neck. 

Crane massages her feet while Captain carries on and Abbie groans for two separate or perhaps the same reason. Captain reaches of her hands, toying with her fingers. "I am so glad and grateful for all you have shown me, and the idea that I am going back to face my death, so life should continue as it should, well view this as a dying mans wish," and then all at once Crane drops her feet, Captain spins her around and plants his mouth on hers. Abbie is astonished that he feels like home. That this kiss is passionate and fervent and welcome, boy is it ever, and the Captain pins her against the couch. Abbie is overheating but a bit beyond trying to fight whatever these two have planned for her. She grudgingly admits that she loves the way she feels in past Captains arms. That this stoic and business like revolutionary Crane is all passion and tumult and urgency, she smiles inwardly to think he's going back to the past to die a happy man. When he moves away from her, her eyes wink open and see Crane looming over the two of them, his hand extended. 

"Come, Abbie," he says, his voice husky. 

"Where are we going?" 

They pull her to her feet, leading her to her bedroom. Crane lifts his hand to her lips, her skin tingles but the moments she meets his eyes Crane's lips lock with hers. She's shocked that he kisses differently than his past self. Captain kisses with deep soldier like passion. Modern day Crane kisses like a romantic, gently, slowly, savouring. Both by all means enjoyable but completely unexpected. "Relax, and let us take care of you," she feels Captain pull her down onto the bed and Crane sinks down to join them.

Abbie isn't sure if this is real life.

or a fantastic dream.

But she'll take it.


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Haven't been here in a while.....I am prepared for flames for this. But it's my story and i'll sink or sail what I want to ;)
> 
> this is kind of a future fic. 
> 
> and I make no promises that this would make any sense.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Angst comfort.
> 
> Abbie and Joe.
> 
> I unapologetically went there.

Abbie would call her sister right now if Jenny wasn't too busy playing devoted daughter/power slave or what have you to Pandora and her risen Egyptian God lover. 

It has been half a year. 

Six months. 

Logically, the shard should have fried Jenny to death the very night that she wandered into that cave and called her new masters home to continue wreaking havoc on sleepy hollow. It should have ended her there, or the god, in all his power and might, should have smote her then and there---and Abbie wishes it now, straining, groaning and fresh from another battle, tears in her flesh and Crane muttering furiously to himself about ways to destroy a creature who's weapon is sound---he slams out the door suddenly, to the archives she presumes----Abbie wishes, and it kills her, but she wishes Jenny had died from the power overload like she was supposed to, instead of being caught here, facing down the impossible, fiery, terrifying, loyal thing that Jenny has become instead. 

It tears her in two, every single time. 

There has been a constant onslaught of attacks now from Pandora dearest. The god has visited upon them all of the comrades that he carried with him into the afterlife, and even Crane, infamous, I've crossed every single creature imaginable in the past in some convenient and unlikely way, Ichabod Crane, even HE is finding himself at odds now with the new enemies they face. 

Nothing is easier. 

Joe is a hardened man now, a sometimes pitiful creature, always pleading and begging the demon beauty that is her sister to return to him, please, open your eyes and see me Jenny and for a cruel brief moment Jenny lures him in, reaches for him, and the damn fool, every time.

Every. 

Damn. 

Time. Joe falls for it, he loses focus for that sliver of a second and it's the white twinkle in her eyes that always tells on her, Abbie always sees it first. 

Joe in his delusions must take it for a sparkle of the woman underneath, but Abbie knows it for the cursed power crackling, humming, living still, against all odds inside of her sister. 

There have been no explanations how Jenny has survived the shard this long. And they need no explanations for why Pandora keeps her with them. It is obvious. She thrives on the pain of pitting these two sisters against one another. On the utter heartbreak. 

The sorrow, defeat, blood continues to act as a catalyst to unleash more fresh horrors. Abbie's own love for her sister has been turned into a weapon against her. And it cuts her to the core. 

If she could hate Jenny, if she could forget the human she was and hate the thing, the DEVIL, the BEAST, the DEMON, the POWER that is not alive but merely an infection, turning her sister into it's wicked host---if she could reduce sibling, blood, to evil, abomination, wrong---if she could erase that love and hate----they might have a fighting chance. At the very least, Pandora might see it fit to dispatch Jenny once and for all, release her from the horrible bonds of their power. 

They have tried spells. They have exhausted resources and hope fades with every try. 

For the first month Jenny was always a mute, violent thing. An unwelcome, sickening, terrifying vision of glowing pulsing skin and too much speed and power. A woman possessed. And that was fine. 

They'd seen that before. They could deal with that. 

How sad is it--- Abbie winces, tears running down her face as she tries to clean her own wounds alone in her room,---how sad is it, that I can DEAL with that? that it qualifies as normal? she shakes her head, It hurts, it burns, her sisters attacks are always the worst. Cut the deepest. Past skin and bone and blood, deeper, deeper to her heart, where it hurts to beat, hurts to breathe, hurts to live. 

Hurts to live in a world where her sister is her enemy. And she is coming alive in it.

Because that, truly, is the new horror of the thing. Jenny has regained consciousness IN that demon power. She is AWAKE and AWARE. It fuels her yes, but she knows them, remembers, can taunt them with memories and fool them into believing she has returned. 

Everything burns. 

Hurts.

Makes her sick. 

She is alone.

Impossible, because, she has Crane, right? doting, loyal, our fates entwined Ichabod Crane---except when whatever terror made him flee for nine months without warning. And even after this long, even understanding it to a degree, even appreciating the chance it gave her to pursue her own dreams, that absence niggles at her and wittles away at her sense of security. 

If Crane can disappear and Jenny could turn, so thoroughly, so completely, if Danny could......and she won't think about how she felt, so long ago now, back when she found out about Sophie. Sophie who is around much more now, and she feels as if she's competing for her job......if they......if they can....can leave.......abandon, keep secrets.......who, who does she have now? 

Her door creaks. She looks up. 

"Joe," she starts, straightening, wincing and cursing to herself, avoiding his gaze where she sits on the bed, trying to reach scratches, blisters? gaping wholes? who knows, on her back, because that last attack had been nothing but roaring noise and chalkboard screeches and then inexplicable pain, but whatever is back there, that she can't see, it burns and she can't reach them. She knows it. Joe knows it. 

But she's feeling too vulnerable right now to outright acknowledge that her armour has dents and is about to very damning well fall off. 

"I need to look at your back," he says. 

"Tend to your own," she grunts, shifting, crying out in pain and hating herself. 

"I didn't take that full on like you, got only my arms, but.....she did this to you. I....did that to her---"

"No---" Abbie throws her hand up. 

It has been a running argument of Joe insisting that Jenny's transformation is his fault. That had he left Nevin's alone Jenny would never have come in contact with the stone and this wouldn't have happened. But blame gets them nowhere. Never has. They blame Pandora for many horrors but it doesn't make her shameful and teary eyed and guilty. She doesn't ask for a way to make it up to them. So Abbie does not let Joe blame himself for Jenny. 

It won't make Jenny come running back into their arms. 

Not without knives and fire at least. 

"No Joe, we aren't doing that tonight," 

Joe clenches his jaw, draws nearer into the room. "Let me have this." he says. "Let me own it. I lead us here, I paved that path for her and...." he swallows hard and nods to her shirt, clinging to her back. "I need to look after you now, for what I've done. For my part. Let me. Do this." 

Abbie shakes her head still but relents, turning away from him she whips the shirt off. She hears him hiss at the sight. 

"That bad?"

"She branded you Abbie," he says, his voice broken. 

She snorts. "Like a cow?"

"like property. Abbie....she's coming for you."

"I'll go to her if it comes to that. but can you please make it stop burning so much,"

Joe blinks back the tears welling in his eyes. That the woman he began to feel for could do this to her sister, his heart twists. A light dims. No, it snuffs out. Their Jenny isn't there anymore. Their Jenny wouldn't do this. He sweeps damp cloths and antiseptic over the markings and curlicues tracing and dancing across her back. He prays desperately that they will heal. That Abbie won't have to carry around the burden of this with her forever. That the branding itself isn't already some malignant thing working and coursing through her. Destined to take her away from him too. 

"Don't cry Joe, please," she implores him, but Joe gives a hollow laugh because he can hear the soft broken emptiness in Abbie's voice, it's evident to him that she is crying too. 

"Crane will find a way to remove it,"

"Crane can't solve everything,"

"Abbie you can't---"

"Can't what?" she snaps, whirling on him. "Can't stay ahead of my job? six months later and I am still trying to play catch up to the new star pupil. Can't...Can't keep my sister safe? Can't save the damn world can't get a break can't give up? I WANT to give up Joe. I am so damn tired it's not funny." 

"Well you can't." he says firmly. "That's why you're Abbie Mills. Because you don't. You don't abandon people and you don't give up, you fight like hell and you won't stop now Abbie I won't let you."

"What am I fighting for huh? this world that gives me so much and then finds a creative way to take it back? What have I got? and don't say Crane." she shudders, long buried bitterness bubbling to the surface. "Don't say Crane when a nine month silence is so loud" 

"I'm none of the people you need most Abbie but there's me. I might count a little?"

Her eyes lock with his a moment before she turns her back. "Are you done?"

"I'm gonna put some bandages on," he says, grabbing the gauze. "Arms up," she obeys as he begins passing the roll around her torso, fingers grazing her skin, scarred and unscarred. They are too close like this, her without her shirt on, both smelling his cologne and her hair. It's an absurd urge and she should fight it. But when was the last time she was held? properly? 

Like she was cherished? Crane has held himself away consistently. His declarations are lovely, but the warm loving tenderness between them as friends, froze over. 

Joe has a similar thought. A desperate thought. That he can't lose both sisters. He damned one but he cannot allow harm to another. He's finished wrapping her up and when he's done he helps Abbie pull her shirt back on who still hisses with pain, and then slides an arm around her waist, gently, careful of her wounds, and pulls her to his chest. 

She should fight this but she doesn't. 

His chin rests on her head. his hands rub her arms, his grip tightens just a bit beyond wise and she feels it, it stings just a bit but she'll allow it because. Because because because. 

Because maybe sometimes Abbie just gets things. 

Like Witness Duty and Ichabod Crane and Demons and failed romances and job trouble. Those things just come to her. 

Maybe she gets this moment of comfort, just because. 

*******************

It's a week after, when Crane volunteers himself on a sojourn for an artifact---someone had to become the bounty hunter of their group with Jenny gone---that the change is complete. 

That they forge this new, dangerous, wrong, right, careful, just because, because, they're living and need to remember that, thing. 

Joe is checking her wounds again. It's evening. He is gentle as he runs his fingers over the scars that are far less angry and darkened, but there nonetheless. He cannot shake the feeling that this means Abbie has been claimed. That Jenny means to come for Abbie either to finish her off or force her to join the darkness on the other side. He will not contemplate what that will mean. "I'm so sorry," he whispers, breath ghosting across her back. His fingers grip her shoulder and he presses his forehead against the back of her neck. "I'm so sorry Abbie, I.....if you could see this,"

"I don't want to," she says, voice steady, save for the barest tremor. She doesn't need the image of a demonic branding by her own sister burned into her brain. Doesn't need to go to sleep tracing those patterns and characters wondering what they mean and how soon before Jenny comes to collect. 

And it is then, because he's sorry, because they are wounds he cannot heal, that his lips touch her shoulder. Abbie holds her breath. Another. He lingers this time. Another. 

She snaps out of it, enough at least to say, "Joe," 

"Let me have this." he says softly, continuing to kiss her shoulders, fingers running down her arms and her breathing unexpectedly, traitorously ramps up. "Let me care, Abbie, please? let me take care of you with what I have," 

She turns in his arms to say no, this can't happen, this is not our fate---his lips are there before she can speak. Tender, soft, gentle. He sweeps back her hair and cradles her as she lays her down on the bed. Kissing her slowly and handling her with such care before something inside of him fragments and he deepens these kisses. 

There is no sense or logic in this world. She thinks, finding how odd it is to know the taste of Joe Corbin's lips, to know that her skin tingles where his fingers skim her sides. 

Part of her wonders if this is hollow. How much regret will there be after this. 

Is this a thing she will settle for?

But he's making her feel things right now that aren't pain. 

She'd forgotten there was something besides pain. 

********************

He stays with her the whole time that Crane is away. No attacks, thankfully. He is in her bed every night. At her table every morning. Hands in her hair. Backs against walls. Lips crashing against one another again and again. 

Somewhere somehow, in that short time, a light goes on in Joe again. Living stops hurting Abbie so much. 

The night before Crane gets back, after, when they are twined together, in their nakedness, he kisses her neck until she swats him, telling him to stop, though her giggles aren't convincing. 

In the morning when she rises Joe gasps at the image of her back facing him. 

"What" Abbie asks, panicking, spinning in the mirror, forgetting the vow she made herself not to look on the horrible branding on her skin. And she sees it, she shudders looking at it, but there's something else too. 

The lines are breaking. 

As if whatever binding thing they are is beginning to unravel, to come undone. 

There are gaps, great big sprawling ones in the design, as if it is receding. 

When her eyes meet with Joes, she approaches him and sinks onto the bed beside him. They are silent while he holds her. 

If they had any illusions about what was becoming between them, this much is clear. 

The branding power that had tried to make Abbie property was vanishing. 

No wicked power could claim Abbie. 

Not with them laying claims to each other.


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is an AU bit of blasphemy, and a little ridiculous.
> 
> Super short

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments please! 
> 
> Also, I know I have lots on the go right now, but if you'd possibly like to see where I take this in its own fic, let me know!

In his youth, one wild night, Abraham Van Brunt and his comrades did something noble, or silly, both, probably, in hindsight when they decided it would be a wise decision to make deposits of themselves for a future generation. 

Long story short, they donated to the Sleepy Hollow sperm bank. Well, really, he did. He was full of bravado then, easily persuaded, and his overwhelmingly supportive and jolly friends had convinced him, his lineage was worth passing on, even to an unknown woman. He was investing in the future, indirectly. 

He would be giving some couple the joy of a family one day. And all he needed was to go into that room and----he can't quite remember now, exactly, what part of this argument had so appealed to him, but he'll say he was twenty five and stupid. That ought to suffice, right? 

Besides, it was nearly.....ten years ago. If not more.   
*******************  
Ten years before

When another relationship fell through, Abbie had had enough of waiting around for Mr. Right. She told Jenny her plan, spent long hours, days, weeks, month, contemplating it, before she'd walked into the clinic. She'd pored over the files. Carefully perusing the family histories. "Oh, this ones British," Jenny had pointed out gleefully. "Pick him."

"Jenny," Abbie had admonished, shrugging her off. 

"AND, a university graduate. And....clear family history.....and....british Abbie, how cute would that be, your kids are half brit?"

"You're impossible," she'd muttered, rolling her eyes. Although, Jenny's voice had persisted whilst she made her decision. 

*******************

There's a racket at his front door. When Abraham answers, he's faced with two children. Perhaps, ten, or twelve years old. The girl bares an abnormality of the eyes, with one green and one brown. But otherwise, they're identical. Full mouth, straight nose. Golden brown skin tone, curling wavy dark hair. They beam up at him and Abraham is struck by an odd feeling of familiarity. There's something.....about their facial structure. But before he ponders it, he asks what these children want, what are they selling, what charity are they fundraising for.

The girls face splits into a smile, and the boy grins. Abraham is at a loss, he pokes his head further out the door and looks up the street where a woman, all business, with her short hair, pant suit and professional air locks up the car and comes marching towards them. 

He's curious now, as she climbs the steps up to his door and she lifts her head. 

Well well, Abraham thinks, taking her in. Those eyes alone seem to stoke a fire in him, but that doesn't yet explain the strangeness of this visit. 

"Can I help you?"

"Sorry, I told them you wouldn't want to be bothered, you have no responsibility to them. But....after.....well, they got into some files of mine, and their aunt has a big mouth. They wouldn't rest until they tracked you down." 

Abraham's curiosity descends into utter befuddlement. What on earth is she talking about? What could these children possibly want with him? 

"This is Grace and Grayson," she announces, settling her hands on each of their heads, beaming at them proudly. "And, I'm Abbie Mills," she sticks her hand out for him to shake, which he does in a daze. 

"Abraham Van Brunt," he replies. "I'm sorry, but, I don't know what---"

"We don't want your money or anything," Abbie is quick to cut in. "We're taken care of, have been for years. This is purely their curiosity. They've been this way ever since Jenny--my sister ran her mouth two years ago. They just want to know the other half of them, the other side of the story so to speak."

Cogs start turning in his head but he's still slow, or trying very hard, to avoid processing exactly what this Abbie woman is saying to him. "Other, half?"

Suddenly it dawns on Abbie that their intent has not been made clear. She sighs, shakes her head and gives a light laugh. "I'm sorry. Let's start again......They're.....this is your son and daughter, Mr. Van Brunt."

"My what?"

"You made a.....deposit, some years ago......they're eleven." she lets the words hang, gives him time to work it through. His mouth goes dry. Yes.....yes, that.....that sounds about right, he thinks passing his eyes over the young ones again, noting now that the familiarity he feels looking upon them is a similarity to his own facial structure. That the boy has his jaw and the girl a crinkle around her eyes when she smiles. He staggers. 

"My....you.....how did you find me? You're their mother?"

Abbie smiles slowly. "Yeah, sorry to spring this on you. They're just two kids who.....want to know their father.....I tried to discourage them. I mean," she leans into him and he catches a whiff of her perfume. "I mean, I don't think most men mean for their donations to hunt them down years later, am I right? But....our father wasn't around.....I can...I can relate. So, here we are. Congratulations, Abraham," she leans back from him, eyes sparkling at him, but there's the barest hint of trepidation, as if she's bracing herself for disappointment on her children's behalf. 

This day is not going at all how he had imagined, but he cannot tear his eyes away. He'll want a DNA test, of course, his brain says logically, to be absolutely sure. But....well, he can't stop mapping resemblances to himself now that she's said it. He locks eyes with her again and she steps back behind her children, hands resting solidly on the shoulders of these awestruck youth beaming up at him. 

"You're a father,"


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just throwing a little ditty in here.....this might become a ficlet type thing later, but it's just a quick thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> we're gonna forgo all logic here and just assume, that somehow Abbie has returned, inhabiting a completely different life, with no knowledge of Crane or Witnessing what so ever. 
> 
> But we're also gonna assume that this "Eternal soul" nonsense is....more like a magic power. 
> 
> So basically, in which there IS a new Witness. 
> 
> But Abbie keeps her soul. something to that effect. Even though she has no recollection of being 'Abbie' 
> 
> I haven't entirely figured out the logistics okay!
> 
> COMMENTS PLEASE

He finds her, in a new town, small place. Kind people. But what he doesn't expect is for her to look at him blankly when he all but leaps over the fence of the house where she is outside, in skirt and apron---that should be the giveaway there---watering the flowers and plants on the porch. "Can I help you?" she asks, more amused than affronted by his enthusiasm. 

"Abbie?" he approaches cautiously. She quirks a brow at him, sets the watering can down on the porch, dusts off her hands and cocks her head to the side. "Who you calling 'Abbie'? I'm Hope around here. Hell haven't been called Abbie since.....oh, '05"

"I beg your pardon?" Crane splutters.

Hope shrugs. "You know how many Abigail's there are running around this country? There's gotta be at a dozen Grace's and Abigail's in my family alone---got three cousins who sport the name....had. I had three. One of them passed some months ago, word travelled slowly out here though. I'm told I look just like her, don't know how it could be, but there it is. Family's not as tight knit as ought to be. You a friend of Donovans?"

"D--d---donovan?"

She nods over Crane's shoulder, mouth curling into a smirk. "Strapping young man behind you there," she laughs, going back to her watering. Crane turns over his shoulder then, absolutely befuddled by this strange new turn---how can it be that she doesn't recognize him? how can----and then he meets eyes with Donovan. 

An unmistakable feeling of right that is so WRONG settles in his stomach. Donovan eyes him warily. He's a broad man. Robust. Square jaw, dark skinned, bright white straight teeth. He's a handsome man. Would make any woman trip over themselves to get closer to him. But it's his eyes. The little glint of a spark in them. That split second of recognition. Crane wants to vomit. 

"Donovan Dove. I see you've met Hope."

"I'm sorry," Crane shuts his gaping mouth at last. "She's your....?"

"Sister." Hope answers, looking at them both funny. "You know him Donny?"

"Fraid I don't, but I'm guessing I will soon. Can I help you?"

"Crane," Ichabod manages at last. Disbelief making his throat run dry. HOW is this possible? Can it be that, the next witness summoned to duty is a man? But...what of his connection to Abbie---Hope? his draw to this woman is just as strong as his compatriot, but he cannot mistake the bond. The feeling of something locking into place. Nothing like the love and care he felt for Abbie, no--he's sure now that a good deal of that attachment had to do with Abbie herself. Abbie is singular and no beneficiary of their generational duty could replicate that. But he knows this feeling of recognition. Of sync. He sees it in Donovan's eyes. The way they sweep over him, assessing. 

"Just Crane?" Donovan presses, raising a brow. 

"Ichabod, Crane."

"You got business here? I keep telling Hope I've no interest in her bringing all her admirers through here."

"No suitor of mine" Hope laughs. "Looks to me you might be more his type,"

Crane snaps out of his whirling shock quick enough to exclaim "ABSOLUTELY NOT" 

"Defensive aren't we?" she teases, and the smile, the mischief dancing in her eyes is so like the first, so like, ABBIE he aches, deeply in his core. 

"Stop taunting the guy would you Dove? geez. You wanna join us for lunch?" Donovan invites. "You haven't lived till you've had the wife's potato salad" 

Crane feels himself nod, accepting the invitation before he can make sense of what he's actually agreeing to. But his feet carry him over the threshold and he walks by Hope, who is watching him carefully, eyes still twinkling before she follows in behind him, skirt swishing and heels tapping---NOTHING like the Abbie he lost and yet something innately her too. He didn't pack any of the books. He has no resources whatsoever to explain these events to him. He can't make sense of it. 

Because of all things, it seems that Donovan is the next in line for Witness Duty. 

And this reincarnated version of the Abbie he loves---Hope Dove.....is not. 

This time around, Abbie/Hope is not behooved to take on the cares of the world and procure salvation. She is not a divinely chosen warrior that will selflessly, wrecklessly sacrifice herself again and again. 

This time, Ichabod Crane is going to have to protect her, truly, save her from the dark world that will show her too much blood and loss. And have her brother fight at his side instead. 

But.....does that mean his connection to her is forfeit? Can he ever communicate to her the dept of their history and bond? And even so, how on earth would he ever explain this unprecedented turn? 

Or.

Will telling her the truth doom her all over again?

As he is ushered to the table by a statuesque woman with ropes of braids falling down her back--her names Faye. And two daughters, come tripping down the stairs to join them. Twins. Crane balks at the sight of them. Twins but not identical. One bares a resemblance to Donovan, true, but the other has an undeniably similar face to that of Hope and Abbie before. 

"You sit there Ichabod." Faye smiles, depositing him in the seat next to Hope. Donovan takes the head of the table and the girls plop down opposite Crane and Hope. 

"My girls," Donovan introduces them. "Glory," he gestures to the one that looks like him, "And Phoenix Grace" My, Crane thinks, but the Mills line does like to give their daughters prophetic names. 

Under the table Hope nudges him. "See what I mean? Grace's and Abbie's coming out your ears" she whispers out the corner of her mouth. He jolts just enough to glance at her. Their eyes lock then and he KNOWS she must feel, must sense SOMETHING, but just as quickly the moment vanishes. 

"Is there a law?" he drawls and it earns him one of her classic smirks. There is something so wrong and right about everything happening in this moment. He'll need to call Jenny when he has time but until then, he's going to have to find a way to do his own research to explain this bizarre phenomenon, he wonders if Ezra has any pertinent information---

"So, Crane," Donovan interrupts his thoughts, temples his fingers and levels a steely gaze his way. It's unmistakably formidable and determined. "Might have jumped the gun inviting you in here so quick, my daughters and all. Promise you're not a serial killer? Cuz I'd just as soon gut you here at the table and Hope would make a rug."

"He's not kidding," she replies smoothly beside him. 

"I assure you no, Master Dove, you see, I....I am a friend of the Mills family, back in the town of Sleepy Hollow,"

"What brings you by all the way out here?"

Beside him, Hope suddenly goes very still. "That's where she died, wasn't it Donovan---?"

"Hope," Donovan interjects, rising from the table and that is when Crane becomes aware that Hope is bent over, clutching her head between her hands. "Hope you alright?"

"My head, these damned headaches, they come on worse and worse every time."

Faye quickly sweeps around the table helping Hope to her feet. "We'll get you to lie down, come on, I'll put some lunch aside for you,"

"Just when things are getting interesting around here it always---argh" she groans, sauntering out of the dining room behind Faye. Donovan watches the women go, turns his gaze on his daughters, and with a quick nod the girls grab their plates and excuse themselves, leaving Ichabod and Donovan alone. Donovan works his mouth a moment before turning towards him. 

"Alright Crane," he bites out through gritted teeth. "Time to start talking."

"I'm not quite sure how to begin---"

"We're gonna start with you explaining to me how my cousin dies mysteriously near six months ago and my long lost sister comes ambling out of the woodwork shortly after. You're gonna explain to me why I got dreams of horsemen. And why I'd bet my life that we've met before."


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Uh.....An idea I've been kicking around basically. This is basically becoming a plot dumping ground, lol.

_Beep_

_Beep_

_Beep_

_Abbie No!!!!_

His craggy eyes blink open and he casts his gaze around the room. 

A dream. He is not in the cave.

He has not just lost everything. 

The goddess the god, the box, her sacrifice, a horrific dream, nothing more. 

Or was it a premonition?

There is machinery all around him. And he's hooked up to it. "What--" he begins to move and then notes the IV and makes to remove it.

"It's supposed to be there, Mr. Crane." a nurse says. Woman with short pixie brown hair, smiling kindly at him while she fluffs his pillow and departs. 

"What's happened?"

"You've been in a coma."

"Coma?" the word guts him. Not so unlike his 200 year nap. "Nurse, how--how long," he swallows thickly. 

"Your flight went down six months ago. Glad to have you among us."

Six months

 _Six_. 

On his return flight to Sleepy Hollow, it had crashed and he had been relegated to six months abed. Drifting and living that horrible dream life, courting that pale girl and keeping his distance from the one he loves, watching her, attempt to woo a man not worthy of her charms---watching her die. 

Listening to her declare that her life's purpose had been to serve him. It's the most egregious affront to his sensibilities he can feel himself grow hot with rage but remembers he dreamt it---he prays that's all it was.

In comparison to the years in which he slumbered this amount of time alarms him. 

For, during his extended reprieve from life--he had not been  _living_ rather in a suspended, rather well preserved death. 

No, in this life time, that half year is actually time lost, time he will not regain. 

It's terrifying. 

"Does...does anyone know?"

The nurse pulls a frown. "No one's been in to see you. Lucky you had ID on you when it crashed."

"Was it fatal?"

"Good deal of survivors, actually. You weren't alone."

"Good," he nods, then yawns, groggy and so incredibly weary. How could he have done nothing for a month only to awaken still so drained? 

"Most woke before you though. You rest, Mr. Crane."

"Nurse?"

"Hmm?"

"Are...are you certain no one has come for me?"

_An angel with brown eyes?_

"Not a soul."

He hadn't told Abbie he was coming back after all, so eager was he about returning with the tablets, renewing their mission. 

Yet you never bothered to tell her of your return. 

"Am I in Sleepy Hollow?"

"No, I'm afraid not."

He has been away nine months.....in a half space for another six.

My God, he thinks. What if the next Tribulation has already begun? 

Has Abbie been facing this hell,  _alone?_

 

 

 

 


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> totally just a quick plot idea.

She did it because she was young. 

For the money.   
**************  
Abbie is a beloved music and english teacher at Sleepy Hollow Elementary. She adores her kids but of course the same cannot be always said of the parents. 

And everyone at some point or time has had the great pleasure of meeting Katrina Crane. On again off again she is, on the bottle on a pill, in rehab, out of rehab, always fiercely confrontational and now, in the midst of a custody battle---staunchly and direly professional. A facade so forced and fragile it could crack at a moments notice. She's a firestorm, to put it mildly, and this will be the first time since Abbie has returned to her hometown, that will have the honour of colliding with the woman on the first parent teacher night of the year.

Aurore has milk chocolate skin light eyes and brownish blackish bouncy wavy curls. This is Katrina's daughter. The child she'd had with the help of a donor and invitro with her husband. 

Ichabod Crane, the soldier who returned from Iraq and never recovered from what he'd seen. 

Just as folks know Katrina's troubled past, they know, and are still hearing about Cranes. The drinking, the rages. The women. He's been unable to hold a job. He wakes at night in a sweat. He sees dead bodies when he closes his eyes. He lives in terror and torment and misery that refuses to let him go and now his wife has had it, she's decided it's time for a divorce, and she wants their daughter. 

Abbie is Aurore's favourite teacher, and she shouldn't admit it, but Abbie feels a special bond with the little girl herself. When tensions start running to high in the fraught Crane home, Aurore seeks out Abbie for comfort and solace, a mentor, a confidante, someone who makes her feel safe. 

But these two parents are warring. Katrina wants Abbie's help to convince the judge Crane is unfit to be around their daughter. 

Meanwhile he's pleaing with Abbie to help him get his act together. 

But when Aurore runs away it's Abbie who takes her in. 

And she starts wondering if maybe Aurore's rightful place is with her.


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will not write this drama I will not write this drama---(unless expressly requested) I will not write this drama.

Nine months

He left.

She did too.

Him chasing after himself, forgetting that his sense of self was all bound and gagged irrevocably tied planted and invested, in her.

She  found a heart that wanted hers, against all her better judgement she'd let a man named Daniel Reynolds, get too close. 

Voids are pesky things. They demand to be filled. And Danny was there, eager, to fill it. Fill her.

Nine months. 

* * *

 

It's not Abbie, who comes to get him released. 

But a man. Tall dark strapping man. 

"So you're Crane." he smiled.

Crane flummoxed. "And you are?"

"Abbie sent me. I'm dropping you off at  hotel, for the night. I'll cover it don't worry."

Crane is unable to wrap his head around this mans strangeness and hospitality. And so he's rude instead. "Who are you sir"

"Daniel Reynolds. You can call me Danny."

"Why would Miss Mills send you?"

Danny's skin flushes, happily, smugly, bashful. "I know you've got....a history, of some sort. And how you left, it's not cool man. I.....she's not ready to see you, just yet, not tonight anyway. Not in her condition. She's being very careful---"

"Condition?" Crane's stomach drops. "Is she ill? Dear God is Abbie sick?"

Danny blinks, glancing down at Crane's hands desperately clutching his jacket as he demands answers. 

"No. No, I.....I mean I knew things were strained, but she hasn't told you?"

"We have not been in contact." Crane admits sullenly, riddled with shame. 

"Oh."

"Please, if she's unwell, you must let me see her. I know she puts on a brave front but---"

"Abbie's not sick, Crane. She's pregnant. Due in three months. It's gonna be a girl." Danny gazes off dreamily. 

So he's late catching Crane as he faints. 


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> every now and again a little imp of an idea implants itself in my brain and I gotta put it somewhere, so. here goes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is not currently part of my summer lineup, but there are always.....possibilities I suppose.

Grace Abigail Mills-Reynolds, is happily married.

She loves her job. Loves her husband. Six months pregnant and expecting, twins. 

Ichabod Crane's new to the office. 

Critical eye detective that everyone says talks too much, but Danny's never talked enough anyway, so it works out that they're partnered. He hears Danny go on about his wife, but he hasn't had the pleasure of meeting her yet.

* * *

One day Ichabod Crane, sees a woman, a very pregnant woman, wrestling grocery bags into her car and ever the gentleman, he dashes over hurriedly to help. He realizes after that she's stunning. Captivating, glowing, with that soon to be mother light. He finds himself inappropriately attracted to her, even though she is obviously off the market. She gives him a smile----who knew teeth could be so white---and flustered by her he barely manages to say "It was nothing" before she gets in the car and drives away.

* * *

When Danny and Crane go out on a case----it goes wrong. 

And only one survives. 

* * *

Abbie properly meets Crane for the first time, at the grave site of her husband, may he rest in peace. Draped in black and a hand resting protectively on her belly as the tall man strides towards her, his face crumples as he draws near to offer his condolences. And then he realizes its her. From the grocery. 

But amidst her grief anger cannot stand the propriety and kindness. She'd heard him speak at the church. "You were his partner." She rasps, eyes red rimmed and brimming, her voice biting and horse. "You were supposed to  _protect him"_

"Please Mrs. Reynolds."

 _"Get away from me_ " she growls.

"I'll find who did this to him." he vows as she turns and storms, as much as she can in her girth away. "I----I'll get him justice!"

* * *

 

"What the hell are you doing here." she asks when she opens the door. 

"This....this was his." he hands over a package that he'd found cleaning out the desk in the office. "I'm deeply sorry that I failed Daniel, and you."

"Mr...."

"Crane."

"Right. Mr. Crane. You remind me of the man I lost. Please don't come back here. Anything else you find of Danny's.....please send it in the mail."

* * *

She's heartbroken, gutted, wounded, by the loss, and now tasked with the future of her children who will never know their brave father.

He's wretched, haunted, and grieving his failure, and only hopes, only dreams there could be some way to make it up to the woman that his ineptitude helped widow. 

 

Is there anyway, that he can make amends with his fallen partners wife? 

How much is too much to try?

Would she ever let him? 

 

Pretty Widow. 

 


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When you have some feelings and they just need to go somewhere and you maybe missguidedly put them here. 
> 
> Who knows.

He doesn't understand why she cries.

A small disagreement and suddenly there is a tide. Something crashing and weighing and greater than their petty squabble. "It's not you, Crane," she says tearfully. "I just...I don't know what it is."  
****************  
It's not a regular thing. 

If he had to average maybe once a month or a little less than that. Out of 365 days of the year if she's assaulted by unfounded and uncontrollable tears only 12 of those days, that's not so bad, is it? It's just the human condition in whatever capacity that it functions, needing release, needing relief. Channeling the confused bundle of emotions and existence inside into the only pure straightforward thing it knows. 

A wash of tears. 

Salty ones he watches running down the side of her face wordlessly as she stares up at the ceiling. She feels a drop drip into her ear. 

She hates when he catches her.

The inexplicable uncontrolled vulnerable weakness of it. 

Among everything else, all of the plausible tangible issues she could trace back her trauma's and issues to, these onslaughts come on with an overbearing sense of everything and nothing. Fills her with sad/pain/void/numb but gives her no clear reason why. 

It doesn't feel like latent ache for abandonement. Doesn't feel like, anger, when she was betrayed. 

Just a storm of.....blue grey mottled hurt welling up, flipping a switch in her brain and crashing against the front of her skull, battering around to let me out let me out, and reddening her eyes with the struggle and fight to stop feeling these things she doesn't understand. 

What reason does she have, she wonders after, when it subsides, to be, sad? Well and truly sad, like that? Look at what you've survived, she thinks. Look at what you have, now. A roof, love, a profession.   
All the components that make you whole. 

But it's that one thing, this one fracture, unplanned and unpleasant and intrusive, that makes her feel broken, in some way.

Like a wreck of a thing that has some sort of malfunction in her code. 

How can he love me, how can anyone ever try to understand me when part of me is this----this unnameable part. 

That can spring up at any moment.

Provoked, triggered.

Anxiety, maybe, a fear of losing, do deeply ingrained and far wedged inside her heart, of losing everything.

Or never having. 

Sometimes she wonders if she's really feeling.How much is real, or just her wanting to be real and feel so bad she'll tell herself anything.   
******************  
She doesn't understand why she cries.

She doesn't always understand or believe that he'll stay. 

But just like her own attacks of sadness, that come without warning, but still with a sort of predictability, not a matter of if, but when, so is he.

He loves her. 

She loves him.

It doesn't make complete sense.

But 12 days out of the year she doesn't make sense.

So she'll take this. 

She'll try, to remember and hold on, to this.


End file.
